Ever Over
by ElenDome
Summary: 'I have always been a little afraid of his voice. It carries the promise of pain, but it's not the pain in itself that scares me. His willingness to fight, his confidence and almost child-like attitude towards it, that's what had scared me before and - to some degree - still scares me now. And now? What do I have to lose' GrimmIchi two-shot, yaoi, language... all the goodies! -Noxi


A little re-visit of my OTP; I had this written for AGES and is supposed to be a two-shot. And shit's pretty personal, I guess. Or I'm just taking fangirling to another level ;)

I hope you'll enjoy it... and drop a line or two about it, whether you liked it or not. Thank you :*

**Disc: Bleach belongs to Tite Kubo, but I'm sure he owns a washer and a fabric softener too...**

* * *

The neon light above the mirror shudders. Or does it? It's so swift. Takes only a blink of an eye to miss it. Maybe there's a problem with the current. Or the wiring. Or with the lightbulb. I'm not sure.  
The water still leaks from the pipe, although I closed it.  
The silent sound of drops echoes through the bathroom. It's logical, the sound waves just hit the tiled walls and amplify. That's why everyone loves to sing in the bathroom.  
It resonates. And there are drops on my face too. I think I just washed it. I'm not sure why...oh. Yeah. I was getting ready for bed.  
Where's that again?

I have no idea where I'm going with this. _No idea_. But his hands are on me and they make it hard to think. Surprisingly gentle for a predator that he is. One so soft, just resting on my shoulder, almost apologetically. He appeared so suddenly. He startled me and he must have noticed.

The mirror allows me to see his figure standing close behind, straight and proud. He's back. I never knew. I thought he was dead. I was sure he was. He was supposed to be. I'm confused. I should say something, do something, but the only thing I can do is stare at his reflection. My eyes burn, I should allow myself to blink. I don't dare to.  
He might disappear. Just like the blink of the lightbulb.  
My hands shake, so I grip the edge of the sink in front of me, hoping to balance myself for a moment because my knees will give out any minute now. I really should say something, he looks like he's waiting for me to do so. Why is he waiting? He has never struck me as the patient type.  
He smiles. Not one of those manic grins he provided me with before and that gave me a nightmare or two. No. One corner of his lips lifts slightly and he tilts his head to the side a little. It reminds me of Orihime, the way she used to look at me. Gentleness? Apprehension? I know it's nothing more than wishful thinking on my part. He looks like nothing else than the winner he is, the winner of this game of cats and dogs we had played over and over again and that I never seem to get better at. All the while he improves, he manages to beat me at it every single time and I cannot resist but feel a little cheated. I cannot fight him.  
His locks, blue as the sky and soft as a cloud, fall so perfectly over his face. Don't they tickle? He never complains, never tries to brush them away. It's just not fair how they frame his haunting face. It's almost illegal how they accentuate his blue eyes.

They shine. Comparing them to the clear waters of tropic seas would be an understatement, no sea could ever be this menacing and calm at the same time. He won, he knows that. The glint reminds me of the sapphires I once saw on some jewelry store advertisement. Still, they shine so much brighter.  
They stare at the mirror, at our reflection. Cold, hard, focused.

"Shinigami."

His voice is deep and raspy and if I could think straight, it would remind me of chain-smokers. I shiver. It should be repelling. But it's not. In fact, his voice does strange things to me, has always managed to drop my focus a little. It's nostalgic. I remember the way he called me._ Shinigami._ I have heard it countless times. It sent shivers through me.  
I have always been a little afraid of his voice. It carries the promise of pain, but it's not the pain in itself that scares me. His willingness to fight, his confidence and almost child-like attitude towards it, that's what had scared me before and - to some degree - still scares me now. He had never had anything to lose and there I was, fighting the war, fighting to protect. I had everything to lose and he knew it.

And now? What do I have to lose? I have already sacrificed everything. So I just stare at the apparition behind me.  
I am still powerful. I could just... fight him. I have to. His presence poses a threat to everything I believe in. He's here. In the world of the living, alive and well. In my house. A _monster_ is in my house, right next door to my sweet innocent sisters and my oblivious father. With just a swift swing of his weapon he can erase my house, hell, the whole neighbourhood into nothing. Or, if he tries hard enough, just with the sheer power of his reiatsu. He wouldn't need to bother with Pantera.  
They wouldn't stand a chance anyway.

But I just stare at his reflection.  
How many times have I met this scenario, in my head at least? I have dreamt about every single one of those I fought, I have been dreaming about the war countless times. They were just nightmares from the beginning. All blood, misery and pain, every moment of it just replayed over and over again as if the very core of myself held on to it and didn't want me to forget. To heal. To move on. It all came rushing back now, seeing the warrior no, the enemy - standing alive behind me. How many have survived? Is it really over?

Is it ever over?

I can't swallow, my throat is so dry. I can hardly breathe, I don't want to move. I'm afraid that even the slightest motion will break the monster into offense. Would he just harm me? Or would he... I... oh _kami_.  
He is moving closer. He's not looking at the reflection anymore. He 's looking at me. I remember now. How through time the nightmares morphed. How the only thing left was him. Every single detail of him. How every blow ever received remained carved in my memory, how every contact his katana made with mine sent a ton worth of electicity through Zangetsu. Through me. How he was able to enhance the pain he inflicted just by moving closer. How his reiatsu stinged at every wound he inflicted just like salt. How his manic laughter tied knots of fear in my stomach...  
How his eyes seized up whatever opponent was presented to him. How nonchalantly sure he was in his powers, how he never relied on his opponent's weaknesses, how he just fought right through anything and... how he made us better warriors without him knowing.  
I remember him coming too close at one time. He was ready to deliver his final blow, he would beat me in that instant if Orihime's voice didn't pierce through the thundering of our clashing reiatsu. It carried so much pain, fear and so much sadness-  
and I stopped him.  
I grabbed his clawed hand.  
If only you knew, how much power that hand held. It was like grabbing onto a full-blown tornado with nothing more than a feather.  
At that time it seemed impossible.

_But I stopped him._

That second, that fleeting moment our hands were connected, something in him shifted. I saw it. As if for the first time in his hollow existence he knew, he just knew he's going to be beaten. Not because I'm stronger, certainly not because I'm better. At that moment he knew I had to win the war.  
Because if I didn't, my fall would be their fall too.  
It was far-fetched, but regardless of his lone nature, I think he saw that I need to protect what I'm fighting for. Not only because I want to, but because nobody else will. I think he understood. And then I realised something. I no longer had an enemy in him. Yes, we fought. But there was no longer either the heat of battle or sheer survival dragging us on. It was something else we tried to battle. And that something else clinged to my subconsciousness and even now, while he stands behind me in the pathetic bathroom and I look at his reflection in the mirror, I can't help but wonder:

"Are you real?"

Never ever has my voice trembled so much. I should whisper. What if somebody hears us? Unless he's just a figment of my imagination and the war really claimed the better of me. He smiles. The hand on my left shoulder is moving. Slowly, deliberately untill his fingers encircle my neck and grip. He presses me back, I see the muscles on his forearm flexing when he grips my throat harder. I guess that's how too tight steel collars feel. I have trouble breathing now. But his mouth is so close to my ear. The hot air he breathes tickles me. It reminds me of summer time I spent down the beach with Ishida, Chad and Orihime. It's wrong and absolutely terrifying. Yet, the only thing I can do is watch the mirror image of his never fading crooked smile. I hate it._ Right?_

"I am, Shinigami."

I try to make his hand let loose, it's just a survival instinct. But gripping his forearm doesn't do much. His grip tightens again and my face is flushed now. I need to tell him to stop. I need air. But why would he listen to me? Isn't he here to kill me?  
So this is how it ends?  
His arm feels warm. Or maybe are just my hands that are cold. It's not like I can ask him. But I need air. Desperately. I'm blaming this one on the instinct but my eyes hurt of being shut so tight and my whole body is spasming and it aches, so I just dig my nails into his warm_ hierro_. Oh, he noticed. The grip is easened.  
The air, oh kami it never felt so good just to breathe. Why the hell am I letting him do this to me? I used to fight him for so much less.  
I used to _beat_ him for less.  
But I never did really beat him, did I?  
Now my throat burns. It's dry because I gasp for air. I guess you could call that desperate. But my vision is no longer blurry now. And he looks bored.

"What are you doing here?"

His hand still lies on my shoulder, almost lazily dare I say. Now, please, move away. You should retreat! It's common courtesy!

"Came to fix you."

His head is slightly tilted again and his face so serious. He means it. Then why do I want to laugh? A snort escapes me, _ooops_. I guess I shouldn't hold back so much. Or... maybe I should. Don't want to make the beast angry.

"What makes you think I'm broken?"

It's a saying, if I remember correctly: 'Don't fix it if it ain't broken'. Sounds like something Urahara would say. Or maybe Renji, if he was referring to his poorly done paperwork. Again- I must not laugh. I don't want him to think he's being taunted. He may take it out on me.  
And yet, would it be so bad? Maybe I want him to. Maybe I should muster enough courage to provoke him out loud.

"Hm?"

Come on, now he's not even listening to me?! I guess I need to make him listen. I'm gripping onto the edge of the sink again but my knuckles hurt now. That's what I get for challenging cheramics to a duel. I guess it's safe to say that I'm angry now. _Sufficiently._

"I said, _you moron_, what makes you think I'm broken?!"

There it is. The outright stupid face-eating grin. I wonder what took him so long.

"You see? You aren't even able to hold my interest for more than few seconds." I just stare for a moment.  
Or two.  
You know that feeling when you hear the words spoken and you can outright feel them smash into your anger centers? When those centers actually make your sight blur because they firmly claim that they've just been fucked with a cargo train? Can you honestly tell me that there's a rational thought in that irritated head of yours? And even if it were, wouldn't it be gangbanged and left to die just so you could take the most stupid and irrational course of action in that moment? I thought so.  
So don't blame me If I'm contemplating murder here.

The reflection won't cut it anymore. I turn to him. I'm positive something is burning inside my chest and screaming at my right arm to swing and send his teeth flying. I feel the familiar twitching, but I guess so does he. I expect him to react.  
But not quite in the way he actually does. His right hand swiftly reaches around my lower back and takes a hold of my wrist. It stops the twitching. I cannot believe it. The familiar tornado is back, only this time, I'm consumed whole.  
If his hands were twice as long he may be able to hold us at a distance but... well, they aren't. So now I'm pressed against him. No, wait,_ he_ is pressed against_ me_.

_You know what?!_ For a thing that is supposed to be dead for centuries one would expect they reek of decay. Or mold. But he doesn't. It's as if he didn't have any smell at all any yet there's something so mind-blowingly distinct about him. Have you ever stood outside during the typhoon? Do you remember that watery smell of the cold wind that's hitting your face so mercilessly your sanity tells you to run and hide and yet you cant, because it's refreshing and the cleanest scent you ever smelled? That's how he does. Unearthly.

"Why are you in this pathetic weak form?"

He's still holding me close but calling it an embrace would be a mile-long stretch. I'm incapacitated by his hand, his closeness, his smell, his presence. "I, uh..."

"Where's your shinigami badge?"

It's in my room, on my nightstand. I can almost see it, lit with the rays of the lamp next to it. The lamp Orihime usually switches off before we go to bed. I never remember to do that. There's so many other things, mementos and monsters - that keep me up at night, so I usually don't even begin to be bothered by those lousy rays of light. She knows. But bless her soul, she fails to understand. She's still there, in my room, probably re-reading 'We Children from Bahnhof Zoo' again. She lives on, lucky girl, and she's there. Waiting for me.

I have to go.

So I push away from him. As far as I can. But to tell you the truth, as soon as he actually lets me go, I feel so cold I want to cry. "I... It's in my room... and I have to go. You have to go."

He actually steps back this time. His hands are in his pockets now and he's just looking at me. Up and down. "What happened to you?"

I can stay just a second longer. Because I have to, need to. He's making me irritated again but at the same time I'm relieved. He doesn't seem inclined to lash out. He's here for- uhh...

"What do you mean?!"

I fail to see him closing up on me again, not before he harshly turns me towards the mirror and his hand reaches around me to slam a hard sharp object against my bare chest. I'm not ashamed to say it hurts. Huh, maybe that's what he meant with 'weak pathetic form'. I allow myself to agree with him on this one. He apparently knows what he's talking about.  
Then I recognize it. My shinigami badge. Oh dear kami. "H-How...?"

"Oh come on, Shinigami! You think the first place I'd look for you is your stinky bathroom?"

He's taunting me now. His crooked smile tells me so. His leaning on my shoulders as if I am his own personal support system does so as well. I am going to tell him off, going to make him go away if I have to. I really am. Right now. How dare he?! No, better, how do I dare to allow him to get so near Orihime he could snatch the badge right from in front of her nose? I'm supposed to protect that ignorant woman!  
Oh, so the badge is in my hand now. When... never mind.  
I feel its familiar tingling, its effect, as if it too wants to release me from this useless human body. So I allow it. It's a buzz spreading from the hand that holds it like a mild electricity current. It's separating the glue, as if the bonds running through my veins are meant to be broken, as if the holds were created to let go and their sole purpose was to bind me with my human flesh and blood for the time until the soul is deemed to be released once again. I feel them breaking, I feel them letting loose, it takes a mere second for my body to feel like a cage and from that point on, it's simple. A single step forward will do.  
And there I am, looking back at _Sexta Espada_ while he looks down at the limp body, empty shell in his hands. With slight disgust, dare I say.  
I wince when he throws it on the floor. What, it's still my body dammit! "Hey! Watch that!"

He wipes his hands in the white hakama he's always wearing and turns towards me, his nose still wrinkled. I could never imagine I disgust him that much.

"It's a peel, _ugh..._" He actually shudders. "It's so weak I thought it's going to break if I only look at it. It's repulsive. _This_, on the other hand..." he grins and nods towards me and I try desperately to look like I know what he's talking about, "this is what I expected to find. And yet... huh."

Oh good, my fingers are just itching to grab the hilt of my beloved Zangetsu and go all Getsuga Tenshou on his ass. Still, I decide to cross my hands across the chest and look as menacing as possible. To him, it's probably more like a grumpy little kitten. Or at least that's how unfazed he looks. Marvellous job, Kurosaki Ichigo,_ you badass, you._

"Then what the hell did you expect to find?!" He approaches me. Remember before, when I mentioned the typhoon? Well, now his closeness - it's different. Slightly. Actually... It's pretty much the same. It's still an overpowering feeling, except now I don't hear my sanity to tell me to run and hide.  
No.  
My sanity and reason are telling me to stand my ground and stop this force of nature. My aim is standing proud beside me and not urging me to flee anymore. I am not afraid. Not of him, not of anyone. Not even of myself.  
I'm strong. And in this moment I understand: he was the one who stepped in and showed me the difference. He is changing me, but... he's changing me into myself again.

Confused?

I am, yes, but I understand the essential part.  
He's just standing before me now, watching closely. I think he knows I understand and I think he knows he played a part in it. At least judging by that self-righteous smirk he does. I don't know what to expect, but I think he's going to say something, so I stay silent. But he doesn't. He takes my hand. For a second I expect him to rip it off. But he's still just holding it. Now I really am speechless.  
Maybe if I weren't so entranced by the gentle action, I would notice how he nervously bites his lip. But I don't. I'm probably just imagining it. He tugs me gently to follow him. We're back in front of the mirror. Again, I'm looking at my reflection and again, he is standing behind me. Just looking at me. He's serous again.

"Remember before. Did you see what I saw, Shinigami?" I won't even begin to try and understand that and my involuntarily raised eyebrows tell him so. He sighs. He's close enough for the breath to tickle the hair at my nape. I want to shudder but that would just be a terrible, emotional distraction. "I'm the one who's dead here. You are supposed to look alive."

Yeah, about that. I know. I know he's dead, and not only dead, he's hollow. A Hollow. Supposed enemy, supposed opponent, supposed evil. But the word sounds wrong. I don't... It's painful. Confusing. I don't want to hear the word 'dead' in the same sentence with him ever again. But he is, uh, dead. Technically speaking. Maybe... ...maybe non-existant. No. It's OK. As long as he exists, dead or whatever this is, I'm ok. Calm.

What. The. Hell. I actually feel like smirking. It feels good and he sees it.

"Remember that. You are this..." His hands grip my shoulders and slide down to my upper arms, "...this ego-tripping obnoxious asshole that is having his ass handed over next time we fight."

I actually laugh at that. I can't wait. "Is that all I am?"  
Now I feel like teasing him. Make him talk. It has nothing to do with the fact that I don't want this encounter to end just yet. It has nothing to do with the fact that I like how easy it is for him to grasp my reality and hand it to me. It has nothing to do with the fact that his eyes I see in the mirror roam over my reflection and do a slight good thing for me. It doesn't. Really.  
He chuckles. But then, uh... there's something in his gaze I'm probably imagining. Mirroring my wishes on him. What a terrible pun.

"You are a warrior, Ichigo. A fighter. And you have some scars to prove that."

See, that's where you're wrong. "Actually... I don't."  
He's confused. I see that. But I say nothing more. I want to see where he'll take it.  
And he manages to surprise me again by grabbing on to my kosode and pulling it off my shoulders together with the white shitagi underneath it. I never realised the air in the bathroom was so cold. I feel it prickle at my skin. I don't like it. It's hard to suppress the goosebumps, especially when he takes one step back and takes his own warmth with him. His hands are still clenching the fabric. It's piled around my forearms. I'm standing in front of him, half-naked again. I feel his gaze on my back. Then one of his hands lets the fabric loose. Time to cover mys-_ oh_. No. Not yet.  
His fingers touch my lower back. I still see half of his face in the mirror. His eyes are slightly widened. The expression is quite funny, but I'm not laughing. Not when his fingers slowly trace their way up. All the way up. So gently I can barely feel it. I almost let a tremble escape. No. I refuse. I want to breathe faster. I need that extra air, since his fingers continue to trace my back as if he was looking for something he already knows isn't there. But I let him. He'll get tired of it. Eventually.  
I hope never.  
The other hand lets the black cloth of my shinigami uniform loose. Now they both just rest on my shoulders. They're warm. I like it. He steps closer again. I feel even better, not so cold anymore. But there's something baffling about his expression. His hands move down my arms. He is still searching for something. I think he still cannot believe it isn't there.

"Now I know why I've found that bitch in your bed."He pauses for a second and still looks a little confused, but then his left arm moves to my hip and encircles me. He might just break me in half. But the hand just stops and rests. On my stomach. On my bare naked lower abdomen and I can't do anything but enjoy the heat. I need it. The heat. Otherwise I'd be cold. I need the heat from the body pressed to mine and I need the warm hand resting just where it is. I'd probably be able to throw a decent tantrum if he moved away again but luckily, he shows no such intentions.

I'm not even going to pretend I give two shits about the fact he called my girlfriend a bitch. I don't care. What I am is curious: "Tell me."

Consciously or uncounsciously, the hand on my stomach tightened me closer to him. To his warmth. He rests his chin on my shoulder.  
I feel like I need to elaborate something. It's driving me insane. He's so close, so close and it feels so completely perfect. A little exciting. A little unknown I guess, but still perfect. I can feel that sky-blue mane brushing against my ears and I am completely overrun by his scent. It screams invasion. It makes you never forget. It's obnoxious and intruding and paints pictures in my mind, pictures of me turning towards him and inhaling the same air he breathes. His skin looks so perfect, but not that soft flawless type. No. It looks solid and unbroken. It somehow reminds me of marble and the power it holds: if you touch it softly, it is smooth and inviting, but try to hit it and your hand ends up broken. It's so him.

"I knew you were generous but this is a downright charity what you're doing to her." He said it with a little devilish smile and it makes me want to smile too. It's so easy with him. I wonder if it's dangerous too. Oh... the irony.

"And why is that?" My voice makes it sound more like a statement then a question. And I notice it's low. And husky. I have never talked to anyone like that. But I know I should continue, talking just like that, behaving just like that.  
Tilting my head back on his shoulder just like that.  
"She healed you. And your friends. And took away every wound, every scar on your body, right?"

A swift memory of that kind yellow light of Orihime's _Sannten ke-blahblah_. It's distracting. I like blue better. "Uh-huh."

The other hand moved up my arm and he encircled the shoulder he was leaning on, resting his chin on his own fingers now. That devilish smirk is still there. He knows something and is being smug about it. It's fascinating how much I can read just from his face when most people have to draw their point out for me. "Have you ever paused for a second and asked yourself if that leech took away more than just scars?"

A _leech_ he says. Huh.

"Calling her random names or...?"  
"No, stating the fact. She was drawn to your reiatsu like a leech. They all were."

"But so are you..."

Oh. That bastard's smile got even wider. "But I already have my own, and a rather impressive one. Why would I need yours?"

I don't know if he realises it but his hand is moving away from my shoulder. I feel another shudder building up and I can't suppress it anymore. My skin becomes rough with goosebumps. I know that. It's much more sensitive to his touch now. I wonder if he notices. I don't know what to do anymore, I don't know what I'm allowed to do. So I close my eyes and enjoy his touch, his tireless palms traveling slowly all-over my torso. It feels so amazing, so like... a completion. I wonder how much time has passed. His rough hands still move gently over every plane of my upper body like he's still searching.

Whatever he's looking for, I hope he never finds it because what he does to me right now is making my knees go weak, it's making me hungry, making me itch for more. He stays quiet. He probably knows what he's doing to me and I don't dare to look at his reflection again. I don't dare to open my eyes and break this magic with reality. As long as he's willing to have his hands all-over me like that, I'm prepared to stay still, silent and content.

"Getting distracted, shinigami?" Of course he has other ideas.

His hands stop and if I weren't a better man I would whimper like a little child whose Christmas gift was taken away. Don't blame me. This is as good as I have felt in months.  
So, now I'm torn in between my curiosity why he came here in the first place and my brain not giving the slightest fuck, as long as he keeps quiet and his hands moving. I must look pathetic. I do. I see it in my reflection although my sight is a little altered by the endorphin cocktail that is running through me.

"Wow, there's a look I'd never thought I could see on your face." Compose yourself, you pathetic moron!

"Hnn..."

He is laughing again. At me. And with a good reason! I'd laugh at myself and the noises I'm making too but I just want him to continue what he was doing before. With those hands... and because only the thought itself makes me hot and bothered all-over again, I can't help but whisper: "Did you find what you were looking for?"  
Of course I have to wait a few moments before he stops laughing, but then he actually answers: "No, I didn't."

I have to stay quiet. I say I have to, because my brain is nothing more than a stinky sludge right now and I'm pretty sure it's because of that two little dimples that form at the corner of his potty mouth when he's laughing. "And you won't. There are no scars left on my body."

He snorts. "Not visible ones, at least."  
It takes me a deep intake of breath to calm my annoyance with how the hell do we manage to keep on running in circles around what he came to my house for and, considering I really need some info now, I decide for the blunt straight-on attack: "I guess you have some explanation just why I should keep them, or you have an explanation how it's all Inoue's fault or some shit like that but please, can we get to the point sometimes this year?!"

His annoyed sigh tickles. I wonder if he would do that again. A few moments pass and he looks like he's actually choosing his words. I guess there's a first for everything.

"The point you say?"

He shoves me aside and looks directly at me, then points to his chest. "See this one? Do you remember it? I could make her take it away. She was able to re-grow my fucking hand for fuck's sake! But I didn't and you know why? Because I want to fucking remember! Because this is exactly what makes me _me_! Every goddamn moment I see it is a reminder of what I am. A powerful being..."  
His eyes are blazing now,  
"...the soldier..." He leaps forward so swiftly I barely notice it.  
"...the victor..."  
I couldn't stop him from grabbing my hair and tilting my head back even if I tried. Our lips have never been as close as they're now. His breath is warm when he whispers: "_...the King._"

* * *

What do you think, a first-person-experience smut in part two? X)


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